


Domestic Derps

by orphan_account



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-09 02:01:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1964718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little cute moments between Breakdown and Knock Out in their lives. Usually takes place in this alls-well-that-ends-well AU, but potentially could be during the war/their time on Earth before Starscream called them in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pumpkin Spice and Caramel Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> Why update my other stories when I could write a bunch of fluffy nonsense by myself? 
> 
> This particular one was inspired by [this pic](http://the-starhorse.tumblr.com/post/64157879226/deceptiderps-having-coffee) on tumblr. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)

Autumn was Breakdown’s favorite season. Autumn was everything the other three seasons were not.

For one, it was pretty without being messy. Aside from a little rain every once in a while, autumn was a dry season. Spring had those nasty rains that kept Knock Out whining about his finish, summer was hot and sticky, and winter was terrible for the racer. Between the salt on the roads and Knock Out’s aversion to snow tires, he hardly ever left the house during the winter. He always made Breakdown do the errands simply because of his bigger build, and while Breakdown liked being useful to his partner, he still drew the line somewhere.

But autumn didn’t have those things. The bugs were gone, the heat was gone, it wasn’t wet and cold yet; it was perfect.

Also, and this Breakdown kept to himself, autumn was his favorite because it matched Knock Out’s color scheme perfectly.

Today they sat outside at a table by a bistro, drinking coffee and just talking about life. Knock Out’s enthusiasm for an upcoming car show made Breakdown smile into his drink, which he cupped with both servos out of comfort.

Knock Out kept one delicate servo tracing along the mouth of his cup, his other servo moving animatedly through the air as he spoke. Breakdown watched those slim digits move through the air, a soft sigh escaping his vents.

The medic paused, a smirk on his face as he sipped his pumpkin spice latte. “Am I boring you?”

“Nah, you know you don’t,” Breakdown replied, humming as he swirled his caramel coffee slowly. “I was just…watching you.”

“I should hope so. I am the greatest thing here, after all,” Knock Out replied, reaching across the table and putting his hand on Breakdown’s arm. “But we can walk and talk. You promised me cookies and I am not going to let you cheat me out of them. But you better watch what you put in them – I’m serious about that car show.”

Breakdown stood, putting his servo over Knock Out’s on his arm and beginning the walk back out of the park – from there they would drive home. “As you wish, boss. And hey, if you get First Aid to cover your shift, do you think Hoist would cover mine? I’d love to go to the show with you, but that’s entirely up to work.”

“Work shmirk, you’re with me, you’ll be fine. Besides, I own half of the practice. And if Ratchet takes one more pot-shot at my extra-curricular activities I’m gonna make good on my promises to weld him to his desk. It’s not my fault that I enjoy having a social life!” Knock Out retorts, bitterly sipping his drink. He leans a little closer to Breakdown, relaxing at the larger mech’s chuckle.

“You tell ‘em babe,” he murmurs, finishing his coffee as the leaves fluttered down from the trees around them.

Yes, autumn was definitely his favorite season.


	2. Now Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes life is just too serious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this pic](http://the-starhorse.tumblr.com/post/42472916376/boogiedown-only-decepticons-can-be-the-true-disco). Hope you guys enjoy the silliness! :)

Sometimes life was just too serious.

That’s why Knock Out raced and poured time and effort into his physique. It’s also why Breakdown both lifted and created energon goodies that kept Knock Out coming back for more.

And sometimes they danced.

Silly, little things. Breakdown would leave the radio on in the kitchen as he puttered around the house, dancing a little bit to himself. Knock Out would race to his own music, and when he got home, do a few steps of a dance he choreographed himself.

Most times, they danced together.

Some stuff they picked up from the humans. Fox trot, waltz, tango, the Charleston (which Breakdown mastered but not after many, _many_ lessons with Knock Out), and whatever they threw together by themselves.

With Knock Out as a dance partner, not all dances were strictly innocent. More than a few romps in the berth had begun with Knock Out choosing something from his personal playlist and proceeding to give Breakdown quite a show.

Neither mech minded those nights.

Their dancing was a fun, private, intimate act that both loved. That, dancing in their living room while Billy Ocean sang about his Caribbean Queen and Knock Out rocked back on his wheels to allow Breakdown to dip him easier, was pure happiness.

Knock Out stood out of the dip as the song ended, a genuine smile on his faceplates. “Got anything else in you?” he asked, slightly out of breath from all the laughing and dancing.

Laughing softly, Breakdown shook his head, pulling Knock Out into a soft kiss. “Not really, love. I _do,_ however, happen to know that _Pretty Little Liars_ airs in about an hour. Whaddaya say we eat and watch, hmm?”

“And here you had me thinking you had _nothing_ left in you,” the Aston Martin purred, reaching up and petting Breakdown’s little “cat ears” adorning the top of his helm. “I want something easy tonight. Wanna be able to focus on the story line without your cooking distracting me. Think you can do that?”

Breakdown positively purred at Knock Out’s hidden praise. “I’m sure I can dull it down for you babe. Now go find your TV watching blanket, I gotta get started.”

Knock Out smiled and kissed his partner one last time, before twirling away, his servo slipping gracefully from Breakdown’s grasp. Even when there was no music, he danced.


	3. Selfie Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakdown tries to get things done, but it's hard when all your lover wants to do is ride in a wagon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Straight up fluff, not much else to it. :D
> 
> Inspired by [this pic](http://the-starhorse.tumblr.com/post/40484759524/getting-coffee-knockout-is-checking-his-twitter)

“Try to avoid the rocks, Breakdown,” Knock Out muttered, distracted as he flipped through his phone. “Can’t have coffee spilling all over me, can we?”

Breakdown, however, was more than happy to do what Knock Out asked of him. Contently marching along, he toted behind his smaller lover in a little blue wagon. What had started as a much needed grocery stop turned into a coffee-and-wagon-run. Originally the wagon was going to be for the groceries, but it had turned into a lazy Decepticon carrying machine.

This particular spring day was refreshingly cool, the colder winds from the north spreading the cherry blossoms over the path Breakdown walked on. The city skyline was visible through the trees bordering the town’s plaza, sharp grey shapes against a soft blue sky. Taking a jovial sip of his own coffee, the bruiser made a small noise of agreement to his mate’s warning.

Knock Out, content that Breakdown was still listening to him, continued on with his thoughts. “Fireflight keeps posting pictures of the clouds. If I wanted to see them, I would just look up. Unfriend. Unfollow. Unlife.”

“Aw c’mon, be nice to the kid,” Breakdown replied, halting Knock Out’s thumb just before he could press the button. “He’s only what, 14? He’s young. He’ll learn. Besides, you post nothing but selfies.”

Knock Out huffed. “ _My_ selfies are art, Breakdown. You know that as well as the 12,000 mechs and femmes following me.” He then proceeded to take a selfie with Breakdown’s shoulders and back in the background. Giving a saucy wink to the camera, he set about adding the proper filter while he drank his coffee.

Breakdown pretended he didn’t hear the flash of the camera. “I do know that your selfies are art. I also know that Earl Grey makes your red dull a bit but in that artistic way you sometimes like, whereas Chrome makes everything so vibrant you only use it if the picture is going to be your propic for a while.”

He casts a look over his shoulder, snickering softly at Knock Out’s frozen position, his thumb about to select his filter of choice. “But I recommend Boost for this particular pic. Really adds contrast between the black of your optics, red of your helm, and blue of me.”

“…that was hardly proper grammar,” the little medic grouses, but selects Boost. “And damn you for knowing your filters.”

“With you, babe? All part of the territory,” he murmurs, sipping his coffee victoriously.

And so the big bad bruiser carried his diminutive mate home in his little wagon, drinking his coffee and discussing filters with his better half. All in a day’s work.

And if the groceries didn’t get all the way completed, well, he could get them later.


	4. Finishing Touches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakdown and Knock Out have a much needed discussion about finishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That sounds much more serious than it actually is. This one wasn't inspired by art work; I just pulled it out of my own brain. Hope you enjoy!

Knock Out prided himself on his sexuality and physical allure. It was one of his selling points, as far as he was concerned. But a careful buffing and waxing could only go so far; it was really his self confidence that really sold his look.

No matter how hard he tried to keep Breakdown looking shimmering, the bigger mech just didn’t… _get_ it. And Knock Out understood why…sort of.

Breakdown didn’t have a lot of care for how he looked physically. He knew he was big, and he kept himself in shape – he was a “built” big, not a “fluffy” big – but for shine and armor maintenance, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

That was all well and good, of course. Didn’t mean Knock Out was happy with it though.

“Aw c’mon, just one day without this discussion, one day KO,” the bigger mech groaned, flopping onto the couch. They’d since reinforced that end of the couch – the side closest to the kitchen, light switch, and end table, hence where Breakdown sat (flopped) the most – to support his weight. He automatically put an arm over the back of the couch, leaving his left side open for snuggling.

Knock Out curls up on his side, knowing Breakdown couldn’t be mad at him when he cuddled. “Breaky, please, just one coat and I promise I’ll leave you alone. Pleaaaase?” he whined, throwing out a pouty lip just for emphasis.

Breakdown didn’t even look down, but he did bring his servo down to lightly rub Knock Out’s back. “No, and that’s final. I like how I look, relatively dull plating and all. And besides, if I was just a shiny as you, then you’d be vying for attention. I don’t wanna steal your spotlight.” He leaned down, kissing Knock Out’s helm fin placatingly, before leaning back up and resting his helm against the wall.

“But…you’d have your own spotlight,” the red mech replies, though a little of his argument was lost in the gentle touches and softly purring engines.

“And I don’t want that. I’ll happily be your assistant, in all endeavors, but under absolutely no circumstances do I want to share the limelight with you. You’re the super star, love. I’ll be your grunt,” he replies, optic offline. He had just gotten off shift and was more than a bit tired – having this conversation now wasn’t something he wanted to have, but Knock Out had the tenacity of a Rottweiler when he needed it.

“…alright, fine. But just so you know, I happen to think you look great all the time. Even without a proper finish and wax job.” He could tell Breakdown was fading fast, so he threw in a little bit of a backhanded compliment in there just to make the mech smile.

Sure enough, a tired grin slid across russet faceplates. “Thanks. Means a lot. Now could you be a dear and get me some energon? I’m dead on my peds here.”

Knock Out sighs dramatically, with a flair only he could pull off, and stood out of the warm embrace. Wordlessly he wheeled his way into the kitchen – why walk when he had wheels right there – and procured two steaming cubes.

Once Breakdown felt his drink in his hand, and Knock Out was curled back into his lap, he finally allowed himself to relax. But still, it would only be fair to offer Knock Out a bit of the contentment and relaxation he felt. Taking away something that the medic obviously wanted to give – selflessly at that – was a bit of a selfish move that Breakdown didn’t really feel comfortable seeing through.

Just as he was about to open his mouth, however, Knock Out cut him off with a soft murmur. “You know…since we – I mean, _you_ …always do whatever I want…I _guess_ I can let you get away with doing what you want. It’s okay.” The racer was obviously uncomfortable with how the tables had turned, but it was something that he wanted to get off his chestplates.

“Besides,” he continues, “you did have a point. I don’t like to share my spotlight anyway.” He flashes a smile up at Breakdown, drumming his fingers on the outside of the cube. “Really. You were right. You’re perfect the way you are.”

Breakdown kisses him softly, mostly to stop him from getting more uncomfortable. “Thank you,” he whispered, smiling back at his smaller mate.

So maybe Knock Out didn’t entirely understand his aversion to having a sparkling finish. But if it made Breakdown that happy, he guessed he could let it slide.


	5. No Snitching!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakdown bakes out of habit; Knock Out annoys his bruiser for much the same reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this before I go laptopless for a few days - wanted to give one last chapter of the summer. :)
> 
> Inspired by [this](http://the-starhorse.tumblr.com/post/40058592204/no-snitching-i-pity-the-fool-who-messes-with)

Breakdown baked out of hobby. It was something to do with his servos that wasn’t medical work and training. It was, as far as he was concerned, the only art he could ever make.

As such, he was extremely protective of his creations. Everything from the ingredients to the dough or batter to the finished product was monitored under his watchful gaze. And after living with Knock Out for so long, he knew the medic had next to no self-control whenever Breakdown was in one of his baking moods.

Double chocolate chip cookies had been running low out of their cookie jar, along with snicker doodles and peanut butter sugar cookies. He had a few late shifts at the hospital coming up, and while Knock Out was more of a morning person and tended to work earlier in the day, he spent many a night alone with no one but TV for company.

The least Breakdown could do is make it a bit sweeter for him.

That did _not mean_ , however, that Knock Out had free reign to grab samples before they were ready.

While the baker of the house bent over into the oven to check on his currently baking peanut butter cookies, Knock Out snuck into the kitchen virtually soundlessly. The bowl of chocolate chip cookie batter was sitting on the counter, one tray already lined up and waiting for oven time.

He reached over, fingers poised to swipe some of the batter out of the blue bowl, so tantalizingly close to tasting raw perfection, when the bowl was suddenly yanked away from him and tucked into an annoyed Breakdown’s arm.

“Hey! No snitchin’! It’s the one rule!” he complained, watching Knock Out give him his best bashful look.

He was not prepared, however, for Knock Out to reach over and grab one of the pre-measured cookie dough balls from the tray and shove it in his mouth. “WHAT DID I JUST SAY?!” Breakdown screeched, not loud in volume but higher in tone.

Giggling around a mouthful of processor melting goodness, Knock Out ran off, leaving Breakdown frustratingly contemplating how to resize the cookies to make them be a perfect two dozen.

Just another day baking with an enthusiastic sweet snarf, Breakdown supposed.

(Even the brownies weren’t safe, but if Breakdown noticed the repeated finger dipping and sucking out of the bowl, he didn’t say anything. He _did,_ however, divide the finished product in half and hid half of them on the highest shelves around the house so the racer couldn’t reach them without his assistance.

Peaceful retaliation indeed.)


End file.
